"Prisoner at the bar, have you anything to say why the sentence of death shall not be pronounced against you?"

The solemn words of the judge echo through the crowded court-room, and the sea of human faces turn curiously and with one accord towards the spot where the prisoner sits with his friend, the handsome German artist, by his side, where he has remained throughout the trial.

The case has excited much interest, for the murdered man had been widely known, and as for the man accused of the murder, his native land had but just commenced to hear of him as a son whose brow was crowned with laurels in the world of art. But almost simultaneously with the announcement of his brilliant success abroad had followed the dreadful tidings of his arrest for the murder of Mr. Arnold, and the distinguished position of the murdered man and the fame of the gifted young artist accused of the crime had drawn thousands to the trial.

It was all over now. Day after day the prisoner had sat with his flashing dark eye, and calm, pale brow, listening to the damning evidence against him. From first to last, despite the entreaties of his lawyer and friends, he had resolutely declined to attempt proving an alibi—the only thing that could have saved him. Now, the trial was over, the evidence had been summed up and given to the jury, and they had returned their verdict of willful murder. Nothing now remained but the dreadful duty of the judge—to pronounce upon that young, handsome, gifted man the sentence of annihilation—of death!

[Pg 124]

And accordingly he had begun with the usual ceremonious formula:

"Have you anything to say why the sentence of death should not be pronounced against you?"

And the eager crowd surged forward for a nearer view of Leslie Dane's face.

Colonel Carlyle was there, sitting with Mrs. Arnold and Felise Herbert. There was an ill-concealed expression of relief and satisfaction upon the faces of the three. They had pursued an innocent man to the death, but no twinge of remorse stirred their hard hearts as he rose in his seat, pale, proud and handsome, towering above the crowd in his kingly hight and stateliness, and confronted the judge.

"I have nothing to say, your honor, except that I am not guilty!"

A low murmur of approbation from some, and of dissent from others instantly arose, and was immediately hushed by the crier of the court.

At that moment, when the judge rose to the performance of his duty, a messenger brought a tiny slip of paper and placed it in the hands of Leslie Dane's lawyer. As he read it his gloomy face brightened marvelously. He rose in his seat flushed and radiant.

"May it please your honor to suspend the sentence of the court. There is a new and important witness."

The next moment a graceful, veiled figure, clad in heavy, soundless black silk, glided into the witness-box.

She was sworn, and lifted her veil to kiss the book. A perfectly beautiful face, blanched to the pallor of marble, was revealed by the action. A murmur of admiration arose from the spectators, blent with subdued exclamations of horror from three who were nearly stricken lifeless by her unexpected advent.

"Silence in the court!" thundered the crier.

The examination of the witness began.

"What is your name?"

And clear and sweet as a silver bell the lady's voice arose in answer, penetrating every strained ear in the densely-packed court-room.

"I have been known as Bonnibel Carlyle, but I am Bonnibel Dane, the wife of the prisoner at the bar!"

As the words left her lips she glanced beneath her long lashes at the face of Leslie Dane. In her swift look there was shame, abnegation, self-sacrifice, curiously blended with uncontrollable pity and almost tenderness. The face that looked back at her was so radiant that it almost dazzled her. Her eyes dropped swiftly, and she never looked at him again while she stood there.

Many eyes turned upon Colonel Carlyle to see how he bore the stroke of fate. He sat perfectly still, white as marble, staring like one frozen into a statue of horror at the beautiful witness in the box, whose blue eyes took no note of his presence.

The examination proceeded. Bonnibel told her story calmly, clearly, bravely. When she concluded and left the witness-stand she was succeeded by the old minister and his wife, whom she had brought from Brandon.

[Pg 125]

They corroborated her testimony and left no flaw in the evidence. The clouds which had hung over Leslie Dane's fair name so long were dissipated by the sunlight of truth. His alibi was triumphantly established, his innocence perfectly vindicated. And then, to the surprise of all and the utter consternation of Felise Herbert, Wild Madge, the sibyl, hobbled weakly into the witness-box, pale, wrinkled, cadaverous, the image of hideous old age and approaching death. Breathless silence pervaded the multitude while the dying woman told her story, interspersing it with many expressions of remorse and horror. Briefly told, her confession amounted to this: Felise Herbert had sought her humble cabin the night that Mr. Arnold and Leslie Dane had quarreled, and bribed her to murder the millionaire. Tempted by the large reward, she had stolen upon Mr. Arnold as he slept in his arm-chair on the piazza and stabbed him ............